DISCONTINUED A Court Of Blood And Night (Tog & ACOTAR crossover)

20 - Rowan

We've hit chapter 20, my friends! Wow, at the beginning of this story I thought there'd be maybe 25 chapters, but the adventure hasn't even started! Also, next point-of-view won't be Rowan's OR Feyre's! Any guesses?

Aelin wasn't the only one who had such a strong sway over fire, anymore.

Lucien's startling show of power hadn't left Rowan's mind, even when Manon and Amren began their hellish, bloody fight. He watched them silently but couldn't pay attention to what was going on, for he was too focused on the events that had come just moments ago.

When that fire had exploded between Aedion and Lucien, Rowan couldn't help the name that slipped from his mouth, so softly that he barely heard it, himself. But Aelin hadn't been anywhere. No scent, so sound, nothing to suggest she was there. But that fire...

Upon hearing it had been Lucien, not Aelin that had created those flames, whatever tether that had kept Rowan in Terrasen had strained and stretched. The only thing that stopped it from breaking completely was the fact that he had a job, here. He needed to see what these Fae could do. And then he'd set the plan that he and Aedion had been working on into motion.

But still, those distant mountains toward the south called to him, and he could have sworn the winds whispered to him, begging him to find her, reminding him that he promised months ago that he would.

He wished he could fulfull that promise immediately-- just pick up and go. But the first time he'd done it had not been as successful as he'd hoped. Perhaps, if Manon and her Thirteen accompanied him, their extra knowledge about Maeve's whereabouts could be useful.

He wrenched his gaze away from those mountains, realizing he'd been staring at them again. Soon, he promised them. He would not leave his wife, his mate, and the last Galathynius to die at Maeve's hand, and he didn't want her to suffer any longer.

No, not the last Galathynius. Because if she... If she died, and left him behind, Rowan's marriage to her would make him the last of the line.

But she would not die. Not today, not this week, not this century. Not if he had anything to do with it.

He would leave Maeve and her loyal pets in bloody strips, as he should've done a long time ago. And if Aelin was strong enough, he'd let her burn it all to the ground if she wished, consequences be damned.

Gavriel gripped Rowan's shoulder but said nothing. The world around him slowly came into focus again. He wasn't sure whether to shrug his friend's hand away or feel grateful for the silent support. When he glanced at the male beside him, Gavriel's gaze was focused on the fight.

Amren and Manon were in the middle of a bloodbath. Already, there was enough blood and gore to make even Rowan want to vomit. The others were looking green, too. If he'd thought Aelin's fight with Manon had been brutal, that had been child's play compared to this.

Manon was almost unrecognizable underneath the mix of blue and red blood, streaks of the colors in her moon-white hair, golden eyes wild. And whatever was underneath Amren's skin, whatever monster thrived on blood and death, was more visible than ever, her silver eyes more intense than Rowan had ever seen them.

Every punch or kick that Amren threw was met with those iron nails, and Rowan was increasingly glad that Amren didn't have such weapons; she was a deadly enough fighter as it was.

Manon slashed those nails at Amren's throat, but the female easily dodged, slamming her hand into Manon's throat hard enough to send the witch gasping. Another hard hit to the face had changed the position of her nose with a crack.

When Manon recovered, fury in that golden gaze, a calculated slash of her claws split the skin on Amren's cheek, setting red blood streaming down her face.

Everyone was intent on the fight as they clawed and punched-- even bit-- and Rowan was just as enraptured, his shock and trepidation growing with every second. Perhaps Gavriel hadn't grabbed his shoulder in support. Perhaps it'd been out of horror.

The females broke apart for a moment, panting, but they were far from done. They circled each other, appraising the other like predators did prey. Manon licked one of her iron nails, tasting the red blood spattered on them, and Rowan held back his nausea. He'd seen worse-- much worse.

"What are you?" She purred, cocking her head. "You resemble nothing I've met before."

Amren gave her an unsettling smile, eyes flashing. "That's because you're young. Even witches used to have a predator-- you've all just forgotten as the centuries passed."

Judging by the look on a few faces, nobody knew what Amren was talking about. But the small female didn't offer explanation-- only moved for another punch, the movement so fast that Rowan nearly couldn't follow it.